Janwillem De Wetering: The Hollow-Eyed Angel

"More bullshit from our roving Sergeant Bogus," Grijpstra said. "What do you make of this?" He read de Gier's faxed questions: Where was Jo Termeer on June fourth? What is Jo Termeer's interest in The Road Warrior movie?

Cardozo didn't feel like trying to interview Jo Termeer again, not even with Grijpstra's hairy hands dangling above his curls. He suggested seeing the movie. "Might give us ideas. We can see Jo later."

Cardozo was ordered to go rent the movie. He bicycled about and checked with three different video-rental stores. The Road Warrior happened not to be in stock. He bicycled back to headquarters, quiet now but for Grijpstra's drumming.

"Right," Grijpstra said, putting his sticks down. "If Jo Termeer has some special interest in the movie he is likely to own it. Go find him, go find the movie. Call me. We will all watch it together."

Jo Termeer could not be found, either at his place of work, the hair-care salon in the fashionable suburb of Outfield, or at his luxury apartment, above the hair-care salon.

"Who did you talk to?" Grijpstra asked.

"To his partner," Cardozo said. "A certain Peter."

Grijpstra crushed the paper cup he had just filled with coffee from the machine in the corridor outside his office. He hadn't drunk the coffee yet. He walked about his office watching his steaming thighs.

Cardozo brought a towel.

"You're smiling," Grijpstra said. "Don't smile. Peter? That would be Termeer's lover, yes? Where is the printout of the original complaint? The hullabaloo that got all this started."

Cardozo and Grijpstra read the report together. '"Nature person,'" Grijpstra said. "That's what Termeer called Peter. 'Nature person Peter.' Black guy. De Gier liked him. Let's go see Peter, Simon."

It was the era during which Amsterdam was beginning to tackle its traffic problem. In order to discourage vehicles from using the congested quaysides, parking-meter rates had been tripled. Offending cars were towed quickly or immobilized with steel clamps, removable upon payment of a large fine in cash. Police vehicles, unless marked as such, were no longer exempt; detectives were beginning to use public transport.

It was raining and the bus was first late, then slow. Grijpstra hummed a song at the bus stop and napped while the bus heaved its way through traffic.

"Food first," Grijpstra said, seeing an elegant bistro next to the hair salon "Jo and Peter."

Cardozo looked nervous.

Grijpstra let Cardozo pick their table. The adjutant remembered Cardozo liked lentil soup, veal croquettes on French bread, applesauce on the side, a Hero brand fruit drink with the meal, a double espresso afterwards. Grijp-stra ordered all the items. He complimented Cardozo on his recently dry-cleaned corduroy suit and his haircut of that morning.

"Looking good, Simon, looking good."

Grijpstra grabbed the check. He paid. He tipped.

"You're all right?" Cardozo asked.

"I'm teaching you something." Grijpstra laid a protective hand on Cardozo's shoulder. "You figure out what."

Cardozo knew what. "Not to rely on…"

"Shsshshsh, my dear Simon."

Grijpstra and Cardozo strolled into the hair salon and confronted Peter.

Peter, who met de Gier's description of being "a slender, active, intelligent forty-year-old black male, fashionably dressed," was busy. He had two clients in chairs, more waiting. Peter came over, scissors in one hand, comb in the other. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

Grijpstra showed his ID. "We would like to see Jo Termeer." Cardozo said hello.

"My partner?" Peter looked at Cardozo. "You were on the phone just now, yes? I told you already. Jo isn't here." He pointed at the waiting clients. "He should be. What can I do?"

"Sick leave?" Grijpstra asked.

Peter sighed. "More like personal leave, I would say."

"Problems?" Grijpstra asked.

Peter nodded. "It's your investigation, I think. About that American uncle. The delay is driving Jo crazy. He wants to know what's going on but he knows he should be patient. I've told him to do his police job, the reserve thing, but I think he prefers cruising." Peter laughed.

"Being naughty."

Clients clamored loudly.

"Anything else I can do for you?" Peter asked, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm coming, dears."

"The Road Warrior," Cardozo said. "Would you have that movie? We would like to see it."

The request didn't seem to surprise Peter. He gave them his keys to the upstairs apartment that he and Jo shared and told them to help themselves. Videos were on the shelf, alphabetically arranged. Coffee and cookies were in the kitchen. The remote was on the TV. "I'll be up in about an hour."

The detectives watched the movie in the apartment's living room, furnished mostly with glass and leather. A large painting above the fake fireplace showed slim cowboys in tight jeans and leather vests leaning across a counter. The videotape was worn out in parts. Halfway through the movie a young man let himself into the apartment. "Hello?"

Grijpstra put the VCR on pause. "Hello. Who are you?

"Eugene," the long-haired semi-Oriental-looking young man said. He showed Grijpstra his perfect profile as he turned towards Cardozo. "And who, may I ask, the fuck are you two?"

The detectives got up and showed their IDs.

"Peter let us in," Cardozo said. "He'll be up in a minute. You live here too?"

Eugene lived elsewhere but he was a friend of the family, "so to speak." He waved at the TV. "Couldn't you find something else to watch? Every time I come here Jo has The Road Warrior going. I know every scene backwards."

Grijpstra pressed the remote's power button. "You don't like Australian futuristic bizarre action films?" He muted the sound of roaring engines as Mel Gibson, by suddenly accelerating his racing car, tricked the skinheads on their powerful motorcycles. The bad guys attacking the lone avenger from either side now shot little arrows into each other. Or so it seemed. Wide wavy bands cut through the images and made events hard to follow.

"It's okay," Eugene said, pouring himself coffee, "but after a dozen times or so you kind of know how Good conquers Evil and after two dozen times or so you sort of start wondering what's so good about Good."

"Jo's favorite movie, right?" Cardozo asked.

Eugene sighed. "Isn't it ever."

The movie had ended when Peter came in. Eugene and Peter embraced tenderly, then kissed.

"Busy day," Peter said, still hugging his friend. "How did you like Jo's alter ego? Do you know Jo had made himself a Road Warrior outfit? And that he has a car just like that thing in the movie? A hot-rod horror?"

Grijpstra and Cardozo got up, thanking Peter for his hospitality. "It was nothing," Peter said. "You're welcome. Anything else perhaps?"

Now that Peter mentioned it, Grijpstra said, there were just two more things. Could Peter tell him where Jo was on June the fourth and could he perhaps show them Jo Termeer's passport?

"Really…," Eugene said. "What are you guys after? Isn't a passport personal? Is this The Return of the Gestapo? Why…"

Cardozo moved forward. "We can come back with a warrant. Now if-"

Peter stepped between the belligerent parties. His voice was soothing. His gestures were mild. "Now, now…now, now…sit down, my dears. Listen. Hear the thrush singing in the park?"

Everyone listened. A thrush, indeed, was singing.

"Adjutant," Peter asked, "would you care to pour more coffee? A slice of cake, anyone? Baked this myself. Won't take no for an answer." He presented the tray. "Okay? Can I get the passport from between Jo's clean shirts without you two starting another war here? I can? That's nice."

Jo Termeer's passport showed two sets of entry and departure stamps applied at Kennedy Airport. One entry dated two years back. The other was recent. June 7 through 10.